


Unlucky at Pinochle

by wearemany



Category: The OC
Genre: Boys Kissing, M/M, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-23
Updated: 2005-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearemany/pseuds/wearemany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two guys, a video camera, a group of people watching. Go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unlucky at Pinochle

**Author's Note:**

> Someone helpfully posted [this video clip](http://www.zippyvideos.com/157640552251795.html) today and a few hours later when I'd recovered my ability to type, this is what happened. I think it counts as having a plot given that recently on the show Seth lost a bet and wound up licking whipped cream off a strange girl on national television.

"Ryan, you’ve got to help me."

Ryan gets beer all over his knuckles when Seth grabs his arm. Seth is always grabbing his arm, or poking him in the stomach, or elbowing him in the ribs. Seth is always touching him, but not in a menacing way, not in a let's get in a fight way. Just in that Seth way. Ryan doesn't particularly mind. It reminds him how Seth needs him, wants his attention and isn't going to let him forget.

Right now Seth is grabbing his arm and stepping on his foot and looking more panicked than usual, which says a lot because Seth is always panicked, always a little nervous, always in need of a rescue.

"Seriously, man, you have -- you have _so_ got to save me. We have to get out of here."

"Okay," Ryan says, "okay, don't freak out. What's --"

"Oh it's a good fucking thing I found you!" There's a girl with black straight bangs and a striped sweater yelling in their general direction. She's holding a small video camera in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other. "And you found somebody." She nods toward the back of the house. "Bedroom. This way."

These are Seth's friends, not Ryan's. Seth looks at Ryan, this close to hysterical, and says, "I don't even really know them. We were just all buying the new Decemberists on Tuesday."

Ryan shrugs and lets Seth drag him down the hall. The girl is dragging Seth. Seth is literally digging in his heels but the carpet is thin and doesn't help at all. She's cute, though, in a Seth sort of way, knee-high black boots with big scary heels and dark-lined eyes. It's not like Seth needs more girls, more complications, but maybe it would make him chill out a little. They're both off again again and who knows what Summer and Marissa are doing with their break but maybe this will be more fun.

The bedroom is half-lit, people piled in chairs and on pillows all around the bed. "Here," the girl says, and hands Ryan the liquor. "You look like maybe you could use it."

Ryan raises an eyebrow at Seth.

"I admit that my pinochle game is slipping a bit."

"You lost a _bet_?"

Seth nods, big puppy eyes and an apology on his lips. Seth is good at apologies, which is good because he's always got a lot to apologize for.

"Again?"

"I swear, I had no idea what would happen if I lost."

The girl is fiddling with her video camera and looking at them expectantly. Ryan turns his back to her. "Seth? What's going on?"

"Who's timing it?" calls the girl.

"Seth."

Seth nods. "Yeah. So, I have to make out for, like, I think it's two minutes."

"With her?" Seth and his goddamned bets and dares. Ryan should know better than to leave him alone.

"Um, no."

Another girl, a blonde with pigtails and a red face, throws a pillow at Ryan, saying, "Are you two gonna make out or what?"

Seth leans into Ryan's shoulder, shaking his head. "Yeah, it turns out my hearing is also going a little, because I don't remember that being part of the bet at all. You wanna make a run for it?"

The door is closed already, two more girls leaning against it. There's no window. Ryan doesn't want to hit a girl, let alone two in front of a door. "Two minutes?"

"Yeah," Seth says.

When Ryan was ten, he stood in a parking lot at a 7-11 and kissed a girl named Rosa for a minute and a half. It was his first kiss. A bunch of kids stood around and counted off the seconds because whoever guessed right how long they could go won a stolen pack of cigarettes. That's all he remembers now, how long they lasted, not if it was any good.

He takes a long swallow of tequila and hands the bottle to Seth. "Let's go."

Seth misses his mouth the first time, gets alcohol all down his throat and shirt. "Right, cause the sooner we start --"

Ryan shoves him back and Seth falls on the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress. "Somebody start the clock," Ryan says, and one of the girls by the door growls, he thinks in approval. And actually it's not a girl, it's a skinny guy.

Well, it doesn't matter at this point. He puts an arm on either side of Seth and leans down, but Seth is trembling a little. Ryan stops, because he doesn't really want to do anything Seth is scared of. Nervous about, sure. In over his head, always. But not scared.

"We don't have to," he says, bending to whisper in Seth's ear. "We can just walk right out of here." Seth isn't talking, just holding still, cheek pressed to Ryan's cheek. "I don't think any of them are armed."

Ryan can feel Seth's mouth curve up against his face and then lips on his chin, on the side of his mouth, right on his mouth. They're kissing, dry lips to dry lips, the smell of tequila in Ryan's nose, on Seth's skin. Ryan lowers himself down onto Seth and licks his neck, chasing the spilled liquor. Somebody cheers and hollers something but Ryan can't hear it because his ears are filled with a rush of blood and the sound of Seth's heart beating like a jackhammer.

Seth's a good kisser, it turns out, once they both relax into it. He's clean-shaven, smooth-faced and tender and when Ryan blinks all he can see are Seth's eyelashes, long and pretty like one of Marissa's expensive dolls. His tongue is cool and quick and the tips of his fingers are like ice against Ryan's back, up under the edge of Ryan's shirt. Ryan sits up, Seth following like it's a game of chase, and pushes his shirt over his head. Seth helps at the last minute, one arm coming down around Ryan's neck and pulling him back to the bed. His other hand is on Ryan's ass, and Ryan thrusts down onto Seth, onto his bony hip, so angular it almost hurts. Seth gasps into his mouth and then someone's hauling Ryan away, yanking him back from the brink of something, of somewhere else they almost went. Someone else they almost were.

"That's time," says the skinny boy from the door. He's laughing loudly, like a hyena with braces, and he pinches Ryan's cheek before letting him go, standing him up on shaky legs. He hands Ryan a shirt and Ryan puts it on.

He looks down at Seth, spread out on a blood-red velvet comforter, his shirt rucked up his chest, pale stomach moving fast to match his panting breaths. "Time," Ryan says, and reaches down a hand. Seth's grasp is weak and they both stumble a little for the door, down the long hall and out into the warm night. They stand on a curb and Ryan swallows salty air and tries to catch his breath.

"I'm hungry," Seth babbles. "Are you hungry? I was thinking, the last time I had tequila on an empty stomach I totally swore I'd never do it again, and what I was thinking I want right now are, like, fries with other things melted on top. Cheese, maybe, and maybe gravy."

Ryan wipes his mouth but the smell of Seth is still in his nose. On his skin, maybe, on his fingers.

"Ryan?"

Seth is furrowing his eyebrows and waiting, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"Cheese and gravy," Ryan says, and they go off to find the car.

*

Seth does not have his hand down his underwear. He's just resting his arm across his lap, with his hand near his fly. It's not the same thing at all. It's because he can't move, because he's in shock, because it's the end of the world as we know it and he feels fine. Fine, great, dandy, howdy doodie, I'm a Yankee doodle dandy. It's a grand old flag.

The knock on the door makes him jump and luckily there's nothing left in his coffee cup so nothing spills. Ryan comes in before Seth has a chance to ask who it is.

"Hey," Ryan nods.

"Hey." Seth is glad they're not going to talk about it, because what do you say about something like that, about a bet-slash-dare-slash-bad-idea of such epic proportions. You don't, that's what you do. Or don't. You don't say anything, not even about how those were the longest two minutes ever or how when you got home and you jerked off you came so hard you passed out for a little while and woke up talking about yourself in the second person.

"What's that?" Ryan is pointing at Seth's computer screen, and just like he's being controlled by robots or evil scientists or something, Seth's arm shoots up and turns the switch off.

"Nothing," Seth says. Ryan looks unconvinced. Because he's not an idiot. "I'm gonna get help," Seth says. "I'm all decided. Yeah, I'm going. There's gotta be some kind of 12-step program for compulsive bet-makers, right? Like, old Kentucky Derby addicts and --"

"Gamblers Anonymous?"

"Exactly. Yes. That. It'll be good for me. No more dares or bets or anything like that, anything with a wager or a timer or especially a video camera."

Ryan leans over Seth's shoulder and pushes the button, turning on the screen.

"Definitely no video cameras," Seth says.

It's not a huge file, maybe two inches by three. It's not very high-quality, either, and it's shaky and Seth's got the sound turned off because once was about all he ever needed to hear people talking about him and Ryan making out. Seth tries to close the window and accidentally hits the space bar, starting the playback.

Yup, there they are. Making out. Macking. Kissing. Groping. Well, he's the one doing most of the groping. Ryan is sort of stroking his chest but then, after Ryan's shirt comes off, Seth is the one doing the groping, or whatever it's called when a guy is on top of you and you're squeezing his ass, grinding him against you. This is more action than Seth has seen since Summer broke up with him again.

He steals a little look up at Ryan, whose hands are slack at his sides, whose mouth is hanging open a little. Ryan is watching very closely and, hey, it's tough to blame him. The first dozen times Seth watched, it was hard to look away. The two minutes goes by so fast this way, not at all like when it was happening, when the seconds dragged out like years, like decades, like he and Ryan were old and dead already and still sucking on each other's tongues. Gross. Oh, there's his favorite part, the part where Ryan pulls back a little, never looking away, and tosses his hair out of his eyes before going in for another kiss.

The clip ends and Ryan exhales choppily. "Wow," he says.

"Yeah. Kinda weird, huh."

It's so quiet in his room that Seth can hear Ryan lick his lips and swallow. "I've never seen anything like that."

"We need to get you a computer, man, because there is really no shortage of what you can find people doing on the internet."

"No," he says. "I mean. Guys. Like that."

"Oh. Yeah. Cable is very educational." Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Um, Queer as Folk?" Ryan shrugs. "Lots of guys like that. I mean --"

"You mean gay," Ryan says.

"It's on like a million times a week." Seth forces himself to shut up. He tries to scoot back so he can at least go put on some clothes that aren't underwear and a t-shirt and a robe, but Ryan's gripping the back of the chair, fingers holding tightly like he's trying not to throw a punch.

"Seth," he says, like nobody says, like he's eyeing Seth at a hundred paces before he fires, like he's about to lasso him and drag him down a dirt road to safety.

"No more pinochle," Seth manages, high and squeaky as he glances up. Ryan looks a little flushed, like maybe he has a fever or a hangover or scrubbed his face clean when he got home. He smells like soap and deodorant and like making out, but that's probably just because Seth is going to be confusing those things for a while.

Ryan's fingers uncurl from the chair and slide up Seth's back, wrapping around his shoulder. "Let's watch it again."

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd use the word "pinochle" once in a story, let alone three times. Blame Punk. That's what I always do.


End file.
